Of Bribes and Horselords
by Jill O'Brien
Summary: When offering up supplication to the Valar, promising chocolate to the ladies and power tools to the men is the key to enjoying the best of what Middle Earth has to offer.


May 6, 2005

Note to Self: When offering up supplication to the Valar, promising chocolate to the ladies and power tools to the men is the key to enjoying the best of what Middle Earth has to offer. Also, Marshals of the Mark can appear in the strangest of places, so watch where you're moving things after after offering supplication to the Valar.

In anticipation of moving back to New York (State, not City, as so many geography-ignorant nimrods insist on assuming), I was packing up the varied and often bizzare contents of the computer room closet. I stored mundane things, like extra shampoo and acetone and Tylenol with codeine (OTC in Canada, baby!), in there, along withi odder things, like my Eowyn costume, which had an anally-retentive attention to detail (I'd had the eyestrain from studying grainy photographs of the embroidery on the original costume's underskirt for weeks as proof of this obsession) that disturbed my parents, and a binder I'd used in school last year with a to-scale map of Edoras and Meduseld on the front and back covers, respectively. I would have kept it out on my desk, but I was tired of my friends seeing it and promptly suggesting I seek help to deal with my unhealthy obsession. So b what /b if I insisted that there was a way to open a wormhole into Middle Earth and walk into the world Tolkien himself had time-travelled to and documented in the guise of fiction? There wasn't any way they could prove I was serious, and not just being dryly sarcastic, in a tongue-and-cheek way, like I was about pretty much everything else. Dry, tongue-in-cheek sarcasm was a wonderful excuse when you were serious about things others had too little faith to embrace.

So in the process of packing up, I came across my Rohrirric Maiden #35 costume I'd worn to The Gathering of the Fellowship in December '03. "Good times," I murmured, smiling at the memories of volunteering to work security with the hopes of getting closer to Craig Parker and Bruce Hopkins, carefully following up on every rumor of where Craig's room might be, and the sheer hormonal bliss of actually, finally b meeting /b Craig 'Shag Me Now, You Hot, Hot Man' Parker and having a Real, Live Conversation with him about the tree frogs that lived in his London back yard. I'd been on Cloud Nine when he'd laughed at my comment about hope springing eternal in the horny male tree frog, and-

I had to stop, or I'd be a bitch from the sexual frustration for the rest of the day, and Jen was coming over later to celebrate the end of the semester. I took a deep breath and forced myself to think about what a royal pain my English Culture final had been. Like a million cold showers all at once, thoughts of the test immediately cooled my ardor and I was able to return to the task at hand.

Kind of. Along with lusting after Craig Parker had been my failed attempts to get a picture with Bruce Hopkins at the masquerade ball and banquet during the Gathering. Damn him for saying he'd be there and then being totally inaccessable for even a mere photo. Damn good thing he'd only been Gamling, and not Elfhelm, in the movies, or I'd have been royally pissed. If I couldn't have lived vicariously for even a moment at the thought of finally being with my Ultimate Lust Object, Bruce's body, free of any sign of foul play or poison, would have been found when he failed to show up for his scheduled autograph session. One did not stand in the way of True Love without being run over. Not at all. Even guys as nice as Bruce. Elfhelm outranked Gamling, anyway. Gamling shouldn't have even had a speaking part in the movies. Elfhelm would've been a better choice for a right-hand man. He was, after all. Duh? Hadn't Peter Jackson read the bloody books? Or maybe he just didn't care. That would explain the sacrilige and blasphemy of the elves showing up at Helm's Deep. Served Haldir right for dying, being where he shouldn't have been to begin with. Damn Peter Jackson, putting innocent elves in danger for no good reason! He'd have to die for that. He killed Craig Parker, only the hottest man to ever-

"Stop!" I ordered myself. I was not going to have that fantasy again. Just keep packing and think of your finals. Like English Culture, where you'd had to discuss the effects of the Norman invasion of 1066 on Anglo-Saxon culture. Damn Breelanders, invading Rohan and imposing their snooty, wine-loving drivel on the noble, magnificient culture of the Horse Lords. Totally destroying such a wonderful culture with their Continental, women-as-sex-toys, feudalism tripe. Elfhelm, reduced to a poor farmer, struggling for food to put in the mouths of his wife and children. I saw red. How could those damn Breelanders do that to my Elfhelm? I sighed. I really wanted just one day-well, maybe two or three with Elfhelm. How many ardent fans did he have, anyway? Was it so much to ask that the Valar give me a few days with the man I loved? It wasn't like he was Legolas, with thousands of mindless, hormonal gits burning with Twu Wuv who wanted one, true snog after a day of dragging him to the mall and to lunch at school so they could show him off like a new shirt or something equally degrading, considering he was the Prince of Mirkwood and an elf. Legolas could've paraded around before me naked-okay, maybe not naked, but he could've been in the same room as me, clothed, and I wouldn't have had any desire to do more than talk with him about Elven culture and history and the best way to dispose of Suvians. If the Valar were going to eject him into Modern Earth and didn't want him subjected to attempted seduction or endless trips to the mall, I was one of the names on the list of women he could safely be ejected around. No, Elfhelm was no Legolas, thank Eru. I did thank Peter Jackson for that. If he had shown Elfhelm to the masses…I shuddered at the thought of fangirls mangling my Elfhelm. No, it was a good thing he remained known only to true and loyal fans that had read the novel. We'd respect him. We wouldn't drag him to the mall or stupid crap like that. Well, unless we were going to Victoria's Secret or Frederick's of Hollywood to try on some lingerie, but men didn't seem to mind when you wanted them to come and give their opinions on what looked best on you. I snickered. If I was lucky enough to discover Elfhelm falling out of a closet or tumbling out of a cupboard, after assuring him he wasn't suffering from a concussion-induced hallucination and he was in a fangirl-free zone, I'd ask him to help me learn more about the sexual habits and customs of the Mark. Hands-on, of course.

I giggled. I'd heard stories of Legolas and Aragorn and others being spit into Modern Earth when the Valar were properly bribed (or maybe the Valar were just bored those days). Maybe it would work for me. "Please, all-powerful Valar, if I can have a few days with Elfhelm, I'll give you as much chocolate and…power tools as you want. I'll give you anything you want. Just, please, time with Elfhelm."

"Chocolate!" cried many ladies.

"Power tools!" came a distant chorus of male voices.

"Agreed!" all the voices declared at once.

'The Hell?' I thought as I stared at the back wall of the closet quizically. That had sounded like it came from somewhere outside my head. I could deal with my mind talking to itself, but voices outside my head…that was different. I didn't want to get any more medications from my shrink. I had enough of those already, some of which I took to curb the side effects of others. Wasn't being crazy grand? I could always sell my story like 'A Perfect Mind', and try to get Renee Zelweiger to play me. She looked good when she was a size 14, and there weren't many people you could say that about. And to play my ex's, I'd have Brad Dourf do them all. He was good at playing troubled losers who had matching sets of emotional baggage stashed behind a curtain on stage right. And for Ben, my own personal Queer Eye, I'd hire Rupert Everet. Ben adored Rupert the same way I adored Craig, and Ben was my best girl friend (albeit with a dick), so it was only fair I give him that gift. And the story of my life would go on to win lots of Oscars and-

There I was, daydreaming wild things again while work was waiting to be done. This stuff wasn't going to pack up on its own. I took my costume off the hanger and

The Ngila Dickson Rohirric shoe knock-offs I'd made for my Eowyn costume came flying out from behind some boxes. I cursed and jumped back, then lunged forward to see what the heck had expelled the shoes. What had fallen off one of the precarious piles, creating the catapault effect? I hoped it wasn't anything breakable and/or important to me. I'd lost enough this week because of stacks shifting each time I opened the closet doors to throw something in and having to shove everything back into the closet as I shut the doors before I had to go through and actually take the time to stack and pack everything neatly.

I peered over the boxes and saw the top of a strawberry blonde head. My wig. How had it managed to catapault the shoes? Unless it pushed something else that launched the shoes. And it had fallen out of the bag I kept it in. Shaking my head and sighing deeply, I grabbed the hair on the top to pull it up and re-bag it and received a very nasty shock: the wig began cursing. Loudly. In a male voice. In a language I didn't recognize. Oh, shit. Where was the emergency psychiatric ward number when you needed it most? Nevermind what I'd said about not wanting any more meds. Tomorrow, I was going to grovel, beg, borrow, and steal to get whatever it took to make my brain behave.

I stumbled back, clutching at my chest. "Sweet Mary on a pogo stick!" I exclaimed, falling on my bum as I tripped over the box I'd been filling. "OW! Damn!" I picked myself up and kicked the box out of my way so I could make my escape. I was going to find the emergency number for the psych wing here in town and call them up and beg them to admit me before the dishes starting singing 'Be Our Guest'.

My wig cursed again, this time in English. "I will geld you and feed your bits to my dogs," it threatened. More disturbingly (if such a thing was possible), the voice sounded as if it were rising behind the boxes and then hanging above them. Visions of possessed hairpieces haunting my mind, I shrieked and ran from the room. I was going to Jen's. She'd know what to do about something like this. She had friends that attached souls to doorbells and interviewed ghosts at Valley Forge (I hadn't asked about the doorbell thing. I didn't want to know).

The locks on my front door didn't want to come loose. "Damnit, unlock!" I muttered, trying to force the deadbolt to turn. "I need to get out!"

"WHERE IN MORDOR AM I?" the wig thundered, knocking over boxes. "GRIMBOLD, IF THIS IS YOUR IDEA OF A JOKE, YOU'LL WISH YOU'D DIED IN THAT WARG ATTACK BEFORE I'M DONE WITH YOU!" The wig was now stomping towards the door to the room. Starting to cry, I hammered at the deadbolt handle with the heel of my hand. Turn, damnit! Please, just fecking TURN! "Pardon me, my lady, could you tell me where I am?"

I froze, blood draining from my head. The wig was talking to me. It was being polite, which meant I wasn't going to die right now. If I could keep it happy, I'd get to a phone and call Jen. She could come save me. I'd just have to convince her this wasn't another 'demons from beyond have taken me hostage' gag. Who knew you could cry 'Wolf!' about those kinds of things?

I took a deep breath and turned around, ready to face whatever supernatural force had taken over my wig. Maybe it was just a balding ghost that had woken up on the wrong side of the bed that day and only wanted a cut and color to be happy.

"You're in-shit." My jaw fell open as I beheld not my ugly, synthetic, ratty wig, but six feet of fully uniformed Rohirric warrior, complete with helmet under his right arm and the rank odor of having gone way too long without a washing. "Who are you? What are you doing here? How did you get here?"

He looked as confused as I felt. "I am Elhelm, Marshal of the Eastmark, my lady." He bowed slightly. "I woke to someone jerking on my hair and when I stood, I was in a strange room with an exit that to where we are now. I believe this may be a joke played on me by Riders in my eodred. If you could direct me to Meduseld, I would greatly appreciate it."

"Elfhelm. You're Elfhelm." I said, voice heavy with disbelief. He nodded once. "Sweet Jesus on a pogo stick and bugger me sideways with a chainsaw," I exclaimed, excitement rapidly rising in my chest. "Holy SHIT! THANK YOU!" I shouted, looking up at the ceiling and raising my arms to praise the mighty Valar, granters of deepest, most fervent wishes. "Chocolate and gift cards will be here for you tomorrow! THANK YOU!" Forget calling Jen. The only call I'd be making now was to an adult bookstore to find out if they made rush deliveries of condoms and other necessary items.

"My lady?" I lowered my arms and looked at Elfhelm, who regarded me with a wary, skeptical look. "If you could direct me to Meduseld…"

"I can't," I said plainly. "Have you ever heard Eomer, or anyone else, mention traveling to Modern Earth?" If he had, I was golden. If not, he'd think I was bloody nutters and I'd probably have to get him drunk before he'd relax enough to make his visit one I'd enjoy.

He took a step back and put his helmet on, hand moving to the handle of his sword. "Yes. I heard Legolas talk of that many times. Is that where I am.? Are you one of i Them /i ?"

I held up my hands. "No. I'm not a fangirl. Or Legoluster, or whatever you call the girls that torment Legolas and try to braid his hair and drag him to the mall." He released his sword. "You are in Modern Earth, though. I asked the Valar if I could meet you, and they were nice enough to grant my wish. They didn't tell me you'd end up in my closet," I added wryly.

"You asked for i me /i ?" He sounded incredulous. " b i Why /i /b ? I wasn't in Peter Jackson's movies. I wasn't even mentioned." He sounded slightly bitter about not being mentioned.

"Because you had the bal-guts to allow Eowyn to fight after you found out she was with your i eodred /i ."

He removed his helmet. "Truly?"

I nodded. "Yes. That must've been hard to chose to do, knowing she'd been ordered to stay at Dunharrow with the women."

I think if he'd been a bird, he'd have started preening and fluffing his feathers. I tried to keep from letting my amusement show. Men. They never changed. "I wanted to have her where I could watch her and be sure she wasn't in any danger."

That's why you didn't stop her from going into battle, I thought sarcastically. Had you wanted her in the path of danger, you'd have tied her up and put her in a tent so she'd be at risk of being hacked to bits or shot through with arrows. Out loud, I said, "Good thing she was there. To kill the Witch King."

His whole face lit like a one-thousand-watt bulb, answering any questions I'd had about anyone in Edoras not being happy about her marriage to Faramir. "Absolutely. Master Merriadoc might have been killed if she hadn't been there to save him from the Witch King."

"Or could it be he saved her?" I proposed, a wry smile teasing at my lips. I loved playing Devil's Advocate, especially when I was sure to get a reaction.

I wasn't disappointed. Elfhelm's expression darkened. "He merely wounded the Witch King. My Lady Eowyn struck the killing blow."

"I wasn't trying to suggest she wasn't a hero, only that they both struck so closely together that it could be hard to tell if Merry's blow was fatal and Lady Eowyn stabbed the Witch King so soon after Merry that she merely hastened the inevitable, or perhaps both were necessary for his demise, Merry's wound distracting the Witch King enough that Lady Eowyn gained the opportunity to strike the killing blow." I hoped I remembered this exchange later when I was gloating to other Tolkien fans about my afternoon so I could give my thanks to the friends who had proposed those theories. "Merry, after all, was not a Man, but a Hobbit, so perhaps he was capable of fulfilling the prophesy as much as Lady Eowyn."

"The Hobbit's sword-a small dagger for Men-would not have struck deep enough to be a killing blow. He merely distracted the Witch King and Lady Eowyn killed him."

"You would know better than I would," I said, hoping to placate him and keep his previously good mood from permanantly souring. "Would you like to sit down? Would you like anything to drink?" Need to undress? Want some help?

"Thank you, yes." He sat down on my futon, taking off his shinguards (I knew they were something else but I wasn't up on my armour terms) and boots. After a moment, almost as an afterthought, he shed a rather amazing amount of leather (boiled, if I remembered Richard Taylor's discussion of how Rohirric armor would likely have been made) and chainmail and a cloak that looked heavy enough to drag down an elephant into a pile on the far end of the futon. He appeared to shrink into himself without so many layers, but the loss of the He-Man look was definitely an improvement. "Ale would be good."

I racked my brain to remember if Jen had left any of her Bass or Harp here the last time she visited. "I'm sorry, I don't have any right now," I said, apologetic. "All I can offer is milk and water."

He smiled, making my heart (and other, lower, parts) flip. "Water will be fine."

"I'll be right back." I tried not to start grinning and giggling like a fiend as I walked into my small kitchen and took out a large cup, which I filled full from the tap. He'd smiled at me! He knew about Modern Earth and he smiled at me. Things were definitely going well. b And /b he'd just ditched all that armor, which would save time later. Fewer layers was good. I grinned at the cup as it filled.

Back in the living room, I sat down between him and his armor on the futon as I handed him the cup and watched him drink, unable to pull my eyes away. I wanted to be that cup. I wanted to be touching his lips, feeling his arms around me, eliciting that expression of enjoyment and pleasure that was on his face.

The pressure of something touching my shoulder brought my thoughts hurtling back to reality from the pervy realms they'd happily been wandering in. I looked down and saw Elfhelm's hand lightly resting on the outside of my shoulder, at the top of my arm. "My lady? I've finished." He removed his hand and picked up the cup from the trunk I used as a coffee table, holding it out to me.

"Oh, sorry." I took it from him, my fingers grazing his, and I think my face must have grown about ten thousand degrees hotter (and just as many shades redder). "I'll be right back," I mumbled, leaping up and hurrying into the kitchen so I could stuff my head into the garbage disposal to put myself out of my misery. Turning red because our fingers touched. I was acting like such a bloody fangirl. I shouldn't be blushing at things like that. Not when what I had in mind involved the touching (among other verbs) of more than just fingers. Oh, I was a naughty girl!

"That's why he's here," a female voice remarked suggestively near my right ear. "Milk chocolate gets you one day, dark chocolate gets you two."

"Both earns you three and keys to the Godiva store earns unlimited access," another female voice quipped.

"What about white chocolate?" a more breathy voice asked. "I love white

chocolate."

"I'll throw in some of that, too," I said softly, so Elfhelm wouldn't hear me talking to empty space. "Whatever you want. Don't know about the keys, though." Groans. "There's chocolate in the cupboards. Take what you want and I'll have everything else after he leaves."

"Take your time," the first voice said. "Don't rush on our account."

"He's been in the field for months!" a male voice called. "He'll be done with her before you're done with your chocolate!" Male laughter.

"And you won't be doing anything with anyone tonight," the first female voice retorted. "Manwe, go do something useful, like deciding what power tools you want or checking Melkor's chains haven't rusted, and leave us women to handle things. We want this to go i right /i , after all." I snickered. "And she agrees. Go talk to Ulmo about the idea of a wet/dry shop vac." Much female giggling and snickering. I set Elfhelm's cup far back on the counter, swearing I'd never wash it again as long as I lived, and spent several moments taking deep breaths and trying to will my face to cool down. When I was calmer and, I hoped, cooler, I went back into the living room.

Elfhelm was channel surfing, feet up on the trunk/table. "Eomer told me wonderful things about this tele. He said it has many different people inside it. Yours only has a few and they are hard to see. I think yours is broken."

"I can't afford to hire as many people as others can to entertain them inside the tele. The few I can afford to pay entertain me well enough, so I don't hire any others." Little people doing plays inside a television. It could look like that, I supposed. But if that worked for them, then there were little people in the tele and I'd never say anything different. "There is more to do than just watching people in my tele." I sat back down next to him, making sure our legs were touching. "Has anyone told you about what they've done when they're in Modern Earth?"

"Legolas is usually taken to the mall or made to eat lunch with girls who want to braid his hair" Elfhelm looked distressed by the idea "and Eomer is always dragged to riding stables and made to tell girls what wonderful riders they are when they can hardly stay on the horse when it's trotting. Aragorn has to resist lots of young girls, and--they all complain about girls that are in something they call 'junior high' or 'middle school' or 'high school'. Only rarely to they mention meeting women, though when they do, they sound as if they enjoyed it."

"Oh?" I asked, leaning towards him. "Do they say what they do with the women they meet?"

"All manner of things. Eomer and Aragorn talked about when they-" He stopped mid-sentence, looking uncomfortable. "I'm sorry. It's not appropriate to mention around a lady."

"I understand. Did they talk about" I leaned toward him and whispered what I wanted to do with, and to, him in his ear. Sitting back, I smiled smugly.

He stared at me for a moment, as if he wasn't sure if he should be shocked by my candor, or pleased by what I'd suggested. "Yes. I didn't realize there were so many women in Modern Earth like the ones they'd met."

"You'd be surprised," I murmured. "Does that bother you?"

Again, he looked torn, finally saying, in a rather hurried manner, "Eomer King did say that the women he met were usually very eager to have him in their bed and I wasn't going to ask if you were like them but when I heard I had been sent to Modern Earth and you had asked just for me that you would be like those women. If you aren't, I'm sorry if I've offended you."

I suppressed the urge to smile and laugh at what a gentleman he was, even when so obviously eager for some horozontal action. Must've been a long time in the field, as that male Valar said. "You haven't offended me at all, Elfhelm. Quite the opposite." I moved so I was straddling him and plucked the remote from his hand, turning off the TV before tossing it somewhere out of reach. I put my arms around his neck and, smiling like the cat about to break into the canary cage, said, "Why don't I show you what women in Modern Earth are like and you can find out for yourself why Eomer King and Aragorn speak so highly of us?"

Elfhelm was in the middle of a hands-on demonstration of one way the riding of horses had been made part of the sexual habits and customs of Rohan (we were on a chair for that) when Jen's distincitive pattern of knocking sounded on the front door.

"Her timing sucks," I muttered, upset Elfhelm and I would have to cut the research short.

"Can she wait just a few more minutes?" Elfhelm asked, his voice tight. "This isn't a good time to stop."

"I know. Jen, I'm finishing something important!" I shouted. "Come back a little later!"

"Okay!" I heard her answer.

When Jen returned, any signs that Elfhelm was here and we'd been involved in an intense cross-cultural educational session were gone, the man himself and his thousand pounds of armor and clothing moved to my room.

"Today has been insane," she said as she sat down in my easy chair. "I studied for Civil Prodecure from eight until two, and then Indian Law from two until I came over earlier."

"Poor you." I was never going to law school. Too much studying. "Sorry to tell you to come back later, but I had some studying to finish that couldn't wait. I totally lost track of time."

"That's fine. So did you do anything else today besides study?"

I thought for a moment. "I packed for a little while, but it's been mostly studying." I felt myself smile. "It was interesting."

"I wish my stuff could be interesting."

I smirked. "You chose law school, dear. Your own fault."

"I know. Only one more year." She spoke the last sentence with a fervent relief.

Not wanting to leave Elfhelm alone for long, I pleaded the need to study as an excuse for Jen to leave not long after she arrived, promising to catch her later online.

I threw the deadbolt on the front door after closing it behind her, then sprinted down to my room. Elfhelm was on the bed, snoring softly, looking wonderful in naught but what he was born with. I grinned and, as quietly as possible, slunk across the room and sat down across his legs. "So, what other things can you do on horseback?" I asked as I removed my shirt. I didn't want to get too hot while I was studying, after all.


End file.
